


letters to nobody

by diana_aaah



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Anonymity, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Flower Crowns, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kid Fic, Nonbinary Character, Nostalgia, Other, References to Depression, Sort Of, flower child, i use ao3 as my personal diary, im gonna add more tags as i add more chapters, it mentions a kid, or maybe not, theyre really cute, watch me delete everything at 3 am one night
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:53:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27371482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diana_aaah/pseuds/diana_aaah
Summary: sometimes you feel like you're the only person in the world, stuck in your own mind, and that's terribly overwhelming. I write letters to nobody so I can chase away that feeling, but maybe someone will read them and find the beauty in being lost within yourself. >>>>>
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time actually writing something on ao3, so please be kind. Maybe some of you will relate to the letters, but maybe some of you wont. It is perfectly alright either way. Im not in any way trying to be professional here, this is just me sharing a piece of me with the wide world out there. Remember to read this with an open mind, and always be kind to eachother. <3

day 1 

I often feel the need to document my internal monologue, in hopes I will find the answers in the pages I have mindlessly written on whim and filled with my thoughts that shouldn’t belong there. 

I have this image in my head, that im running, and its cold and grey outside, and it feels like im the only one in a deserted city. I feel my thoughts spill out and I leave a trail behind me, only im the only one who can make sense of the mess I leave behind. I have to know how to untangle the thoughts, so that nobody trips or gets caught in them while walking past me. It’s a hustle and it takes a very long time, so I usually give up running to sit on the sidewalk and try untangling my thoughts. But then I also bother others who want to walk down the road. I take my big clump of tangled thoughts and go where I can't bother anyone, because they’ve already passed that point in life. 

I go to the cemetery and sit there. Only now I have lost motivation, so I lay down on the ground and let the weeds sway gently beside my head, as the wind blows through them. Its nice and silent here, where I don’t bother anyone, and no one can be bothered to bother me. I look at the sad, misty sky and think hmmmm... I don’t like that shade of grey .I turn my head towards the headstones “ I don’t like that shade of grey either”. I look down at my clothes and sigh, the world just seems to become greyer and greyer everyday, and should bother me, but it doesn’t anymore. I try to remember the colours. They were very pretty, especially that pretty blue the sky got sometimes. 

I look up again, and let my mind wonder on the cold greyish fields of nothingness, secretly wishing something would bother me so I didn’t have to look at it anymore. Funny how you can change so quickly, it feels like I've been here all afternoon. When I look down at myself, I don’t see gray anymore, which bothers me. I don’t feel the gusts of wind or the soft brushes of the weeds along my arms anymore, and that bothers me. Why cant I see anything ? Well, I guess it's not that much of a loss anyways, I never really liked that shade of grey.


	2. day 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to whoever was the first person to read this little piece of me I've put into words. You truly made me believe I should keep on going, and you made me happy, genuinely happy, for the first time in way too long. And to you, the one still reading this, im proud of you . Hold on just for a little while. Drink something warm and read this letter with me. I promise it will be worth your time :))

I am me. Sometimes, I'm somebody else, but most of the times I am nobody. 

That’s about all the things I am sure of. Those are all the constants in my life. If I would wake up one day and forget everything, those words would be enough to give me a brief idea of the person I am or once was. Only those words are completely wrong. If I look at them on paper I don’t see myself in them. If I speak them outloud, I don’t hear myself in them. That’s because im still searching for the right words. 

Why words? You ask. Words are how I make sense of the world. I find beautiful words and admire them like a painting, I find sad, ugly words and I treasure them because of the emotion they induce. I treasure them because no one else will.  
If someone puts in front of you multiple rubber ducks, each one more damaged than the other, which one would you pick ? You have no need for it in your life, the object has no practical use. Yet you still pick the most beautiful one out of the bunch because it pleases you visually and makes you feel like you added at least a drop of perfection into that crazy life of yours.  
Which one do I pick ? I don’t pick one, I don’t need a rubber duck. 

That’s the way I would like to act. That’s the way I imagine myself reacting. But in reality, I would most probably take all of them, because they might miss each other if I only take one. I do the same with words. I take too many and leave too little. I strive for perfection but all I end up with are ruins of the castle I tried to build but failed. Quotes crumble from the walls and at pieces of scaffolding hit me right in the head reminding me how much of a useless hobby I have. Collecting words. What a loser. 

To quote the italians, il dolce far niente. The beauty of doing nothing. 

How can such an useless hobby bring joy to someone? I ask myself that every day, I just cant seem to find the right answer. It always changes. Like me. Or someone else. Or nobody at all.  
Yes, I build my life on illusions, on hopeless creations of someone greater than me. I take a tiny fragment of their genius and keep it next to me, in hopes of finding the right answer at some point. I take so much and leave so little, yet they never get angry with me. Trying to form a clear idea of me using someone else's words and still failing, now that’s an outstanding achievement.


	3. day 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the original title for this chapter should have been "am I a pear tree ? " but I couldn't keep myself from laughing at the visuals, so I decided not to title it that way because it would throw off the whole point of the book. But there's a fun little fact for ya :))

There are at least two of everything in this world. Someone in the world has the exact same dark blue mug as I do, in someone's garden grows a pear tree that looks exactly like the one I have in my backyard. 

There is someone who looks exactly like me without knowing there is another them. Maybe it's you, maybe we have the same nose, long and pointy from some angles and beautiful from others. Maybe we have the same fears, the same hopes, the same stars we always make a wish to. Maybe you too, look in the reflective surface of the lies you cover yourself with, and see someone you don’t like. I most surely do. 

But there are days when I'm polished just a tiny bit better, life feels sweeter and the sour taste I get in my mouth after looking at myself doesn’t linger there for too long, as it usually does. Those days, I shine a little brighter, laugh a little more and like to allow myself a bite of the sweet pear I picked from my backyard. I bite into it, hard, and feel the juice running down my hand, leaving sticky traces of childish happiness and wonder on the skin I took revenge on too many times. Those days are beautiful, full of the person I once was. I soak those sticky marks into my skin as well as I can, not wanting to go back to feeling miserable just yet. 

What would grandma do if she knew her darling pear tree is so sad and neglected? What would she do if she knew the roots were slowly strangling it, climbing up and down the bark and destroying it day by day from the inside? It only ever grew pears on Tuesdays with odd numbers, but now it can barely grow two each fall. 

What would grandma do if she only knew her granddaughter sat every day in front of that tree, looking at it, her fingers getting burned raw from the dark blue mug, and thinking about how she'd like to be next.


	4. letter to n.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't a letter to myself. this is a letter to the person you miss. this is the goodbye you never got to have. I know you miss them and there are moments in your day when you're haunted by what ifs, memories that leave a burning sweet feeling on the tip of your tongue, but you need to think if you really miss them or just the way they made you feel. <3

It was always us two, wasn’t it? The moment you took my hand I knew I would follow wherever you led me, with no hesitation. 

We used to race each other to the park, remember? It wasn’t much of a race, you always took my hand and we ran together. When we reached the park we would throw ourselves on the grass, roll around laughing, and you’d take my face in your hands and tell me how strong I am, how I won the race again and again and again. I used to laugh and call you silly, you’d just smile and poke my dimple. It made me feel warm inside, but I never questioned it. Because we’ve always been like that, you and me. All the stories that we’ve told under that willow, all the tickle fights, all the flower crowns we used to hang on the branches so the tree will feel pretty too, they mean everything to me. I thought we shared that, just like we used to share every fruit we managed to steal from my nana’s garden, or every piece of clothing we owned. The sweater we knitted together is still in the tree house, you never gave it back. You can keep it, it looks better on you anyway. I do miss it sometimes. 

Most of the times it slips from my memory, but I remembered it was your birthday today. It snowed today, the first snow. Its as cold as ever, and I'm not any better. I barely feel it anymore. I don’t know where you are, but I hope you're well. You promised me you would be. 

Of course I knew you would outrun me at some point, you were always meant to reach the stars. I guess I just refused to believe it when you did. I took a lot of things for granted, but I never thought you were one of them. I was so sure you would never leave me behind. Im sorry you had to lie to me for so long. Im not strong. I lost all of those races, and now I've lost you too. 

Im sorry. Take them to the moon for me.  
\- D


	5. tiny fragile flowercrowns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im thinking of changing the concept of this book a bit. I've been playing around in the drafts with a new idea, but it's nothing permanent yet. tell me if you like this chapter, even though it is a bit different. I love you all <3

I've always wondered how the system works, what kind of great minds choose who gets a happy end and who doesn’t.

You know that one shy kid who says sorry too much? Do you know how that kid sees the world? How every smile, wave or kind hello makes their day and leaves a small butterfly touch of happiness in their heart? That kid whose heart melts at the sight of old couples together, that gentle kid who touches every flower petal so the others won’t get upset, that kid that blushes when the sun touches his cheek, that kid who only ever wanted to make flower crowns when the first day of spring came around and gifted them to their classmates. That kid got sad when they found the flower crowns in the garbage bin later, but they still continued to make flower crowns, hoping the beautiful flowers would make the others happy like it made them. Don’t turn your back on that kid, don’t throw away the flower crown. Give them a small smile and say thank you for the flowers, they will never forget you. Even the smallest gestures can change someone's life. Don’t let them lock themselves away in their own little world, it's sad and cold in there and there's nobody to give them a blanket. 

Their soul is like a little flower, don’t let it wilt away in a bouquet with thorns that could kill them. Be kind even to the smallest of flowers, you never know how beautiful they could grow to be. 

It's quite funny isn't it, how everything starts with a confession and ends with a new story of a person I've never met before, but whose feelings I try to paint in words as well as I can. I know there's someone out there who will feel heard, who will feel happy someone understands them. I love you whoever you are. You matter, you are heard, even if you’ve been silent all your life. Look what a wonderful story you are.


End file.
